


The Paramore, Commandant and a Berlin Apartment

by Gingko_leaf



Category: ww2 - Fandom
Genre: 1930s, Berlin, F/M, Narritive, Short Story, trigger - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27856941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gingko_leaf/pseuds/Gingko_leaf
Summary: One can never see the face behind their partner’s mask in marriage. When it is seen there will be hell to pay.Set in afternoon 1930’s Berlin during WW2, a Commandant and a wife meet.
Relationships: Abusive - Relationship, TRIGGER - Relationship





	The Paramore, Commandant and a Berlin Apartment

**Author's Note:**

> So..... this is my first post! I’m sorry it’s just a short story, wanted to start off easy. But yeh I’m open to brutal feedback. I wrote this for school and was hoping to share. If you’re not having the best of days seek help, I know it helps. And for those who are having a great day be grateful for what you’ve got!
> 
> Trigger Warnings:  
> Abuse  
> Psychological Abuse  
> Threats  
> Grief

The door clicked. There was a pause, an eerie wave rippled over the apartment from the movement. The door flew open, throwing light into the abode. A woman was perched upon a seemingly comfortable, corduroy chair in the middle of the room. She glanced towards the door.

“Do you ever take that off?” The woman gestured towards the straight cut, highly decorated uniform. The man paused tentatively observing the woman, her soft eyes unguarded, the dimming light accentuating a drunken hollowed figure from many years of marriage.

“She’s drunk, this would be so effortless, I know every weak spot,” the man revelled to himself.   
He glided over to the woman and sat promptly opposite her. His hand rose slowly over a large contraption with two large wheels on its side.

“A voice recorder, why?” The woman asked herself.   
The click of the button echoed across the apartment, while the wheels turned repeatedly snarling sound every time it spun. The man cleared his throat, glancing over at the woman with a smile. A smile that disarmed any woman with effortlessness. 

“Why did you become a spy? My love.” He began, placing his hands together in interest. 

The woman’s eyes flickered with panic, “Fuck he found out, the perceptive bastard.” She said internally, crunching her teeth.

“Because I’m a woman, no one suspects a feeble wife.” She giggled to herself gazing at him sarcastically.   
The woman articulately reached for a cigarette on the low table. Flicking the lighter ablaze, smoke wafted around the stagnant collection of furniture. Her scarlet bob curtained her left eye as she leisurely leaned back glaring at the man in the eye, her eyebrow rose. 

“Is he enjoying this?” She questioned, caught off guard once again. 

She cooed, “That’s what we do, sneak,” letting out a drunken laugh.

“You know why you're here?” The man continued.

“This is where I live, but no,” she said with wide eyes, “Why?” Cocking her head in amusement.

Paying no attention to her, he led on. “Did you steal from me, a German Commandant, you know my status don’t you?” He inspected nonchalantly as he strolled over to the kitchen sink.

“I have a question for you.” She chirped while studying the compact space for potential escapes. The man stopped expectantly for the question.

“Bach or Chopin?” She questioned playfully. The man flinched, caught off guard, but recovered as he whisked towards her gesturing a glass. She nodded. The man turned his back to the woman.

“Why?” He asked as he went back to toil.

“Remember you asked me that when we first met, just choose.” She smiled as she playfully rested her head on her hands. This was her chance, her escape, her eyes darted scanning the apartment. Her eyes flew to the butcher's knife beside him.

“Bach,” he said, stopping. The woman’s excitement extinguished. She didn’t want to look, she knew she had lost this round. But she had to win, she drew her eyes up and met him in the reflection of the window glass. The man’s eyes glistened with joy while he sustained from grinning.

“No fair, you’re teasing me,” she sighed, letting out a small smile, mixed with frustration and thrill. She brought her cigarette to her red lip to quell her nerves. 

The man turned the tap until a slight drip.

“Does this mind you?” He asked peering at her curiously.

“Not in the least,” she smiled fakely while receiving the glass. The man marched over to the arched window overlooking the Berlin streets, furrowing his brow, preparing himself.

The man uttered a single word unfurling the entirety of her.  
“Gabriel,” he whispered. 

The woman held her cigarette still, gripping the arm of the chair until her knuckles became white. Her eyes licked with flames for a heartbeat.

“How could he,” she bellowed internally. The man knew he was getting under her skin. The woman turned her head away from him.

“Who?” She asked while sucking on her cigarette. 

He strode over to her steadily in time with the drip of the tap. She retreated slightly into her chair, blowing smoke into his face in weak retaliation. 

She was breaking.

“Don’t act stupid, your son.” The man beamed at her with the satisfaction of having the upper hand.

“Our son,” the woman shot. 

Her heartbeat plummeting to a freeze, her eyes loathingly piercing the man. Several heartbeats past, in a silent duel of stares only the drip of the faucet intruded.

“We both know it isn’t ours, he’s a bastard, I know about your British Paramore, I know everything.” 

The woman glanced at the recorder spinning spiralling into hopelessness. 

“Do you know where Gabriel is?” The man inquired, eyes twinkling in the duskan sun.

“He’s at boarding school, obviously,” the woman voiced, keeping her cooled stature. She knew Gabriel wasn’t safe. Her mind began to race and her legs shook from her thoughts, droplets welled from her tear ducts. 

“You can do nothing, I won’t confess,” she breathed turning to face him.

The man sat down, “I have a question for you,” he chirped, interlacing his spindly fingers. 

The woman glared at him, insulted. 

He shrugged, taking a large gulp of water, finally asking smilingly, “Bach or Chopin?” 

Surging with anger, trapped frustration suffocated the woman.

“I WON’T,” she shook, stamping her foot.

“Right where I want,” he snarled internally. 

He shot up, striding towards her, casting shadows over her, dominating her with his height. 

“YOU WOULD RATHER KILL YOUR BASTARD AND YOUR PARAMORE TO SAVE YOURSELF!” He spat triumphantly. 

Sniffles of anger erupted from the woman, slowly becoming silent retreating to her innermost shell. Her eyes fell to the floor, letting her cigarette burn to her fingers.

“How could you do this,” she whispered.

“All you have to do is confess.” The man said softly as he reached for her hand, soothingly stroking it.

“No,” she murmured, gaining the strength to wriggle out of his reach.

“GOD DAMN IT CONFESS!” he boomed, flicking his silvering hair from his face in vexation.

“NO.”

“CONFESS.”

“I WON’T.” She shrieked as she threw the glass at him, ricocheting all over the herringbone floor.

“DO IT.” He carried on.

“I-I W-WON’T.” She whimpered, falling to the floor in a beautifully matted heap of limbs and tears. Scratching and writhing on the apartment floor she confessed. 

“I’ll tell you everything, the-the espionage, everything,” she heaved. “Let them go.”

“What? Did I say anything about them being captured,” the man scoffed.

“They’re safe?” The woman desperately smiled with relief through the tears. 

The man sighed and squatted down, facing the woman.

“Some could say, depends.” He smiled then motioned a cross across his body. “But it’s all the same, they’re dead now,” the man cackled. 

The woman howled in pain, clawing at her hair, smudging her lipstick. Hyperventilation kicked her in the throat until it made her nauseous. She curled up into a ball shielding herself from the outside world.

“Y-you lied, you s-said they were alive,” she choked.

“You’re funny darling, I never said that,” he chortled.

Clutching her heart she begged, “Why?”

The man grabbed her face stiffly, taking in her ruin. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, happiness for happiness.”


End file.
